


Tableau

by raskin



Series: Out of Whitechapel [4]
Category: Lewis (TV), Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Art, Compare and Contrast, Fluff and Mush, Fluff and Smut, Love, M/M, Real Life, Romance, Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raskin/pseuds/raskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Emerson, on the sofa. Two men expressing their perfect love.  Or two boys having fun, messy sex.</p><p>A one-shot, just a bit of silliness...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tableau

At that moment they were a work of art.

Two naked men, at the height of passion. An explicit expression of sexual arousal, and absolute love. Fit only for display in the very private salon of a privileged nobleman, viewed only by select guests. 

In the background, a bronzed, long-bodied blond, lying back against the cushions, eyes half-closed in lust. In his arms was the smaller man, with the wild curls and delicate features of a cherub, and the well-muscled body of _The David_. His face twisted around to his lover, offering his lips. His eyes were closed, his thick eyelashes fanned out over his cheekbones. 

Raphael himself would weep while painting them. Michelangelo would commit his best block of marble to capture their beauty. Leonardo would study them, then scratch his head with charcoal-stained fingers, wondering how the most primal physical act became evidence that heaven existed. 

The tableau was all about to transform, though – James was going to start thrashing around, desperate in those last few thrusts. Emerson would struggle to stay astride him, slipping around on James’ sweat-slicked skin. 

James would be making all sorts of ridiculous, strained faces as he neared his release. His fumbling hand was going to slip off Emerson’s dick, and Emerson was going to curse him with the foulest language. Then James would have to slap Emerson’s hand away as he tried to finish himself off. Emerson was about to become a mess, his chest and abs plastered with his own come. 

All too soon, Emerson would half-climb, half-fall off his lap, laughing at the silly sucking sound of James’ dick popping out of him. Then he’d yell at James to quick grab him a tissue or towel or something, and James, panting and still trying to catch his breath, would mutter that he should have thought of that before he pulled off, threatening to make Emerson pay if the upholstery had to be professionally cleaned. Emerson would tidy them both up while asking rather cheekily when 'the old man' would be ready for another go.

Then Emerson would be back on James' lap, curled up against his long torso, nestling his head in the crook of James’ neck. James would have his long arms wrapped around his lover, and his face buried in Emerson’s curls.

Another perfect expression of love, another work of art, begging to be captured on paper or on canvas or in stone.


End file.
